


Kept

by elementalv



Series: Lost [3]
Category: due South
Genre: Community: help_japan, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-30
Updated: 2011-06-30
Packaged: 2017-10-20 21:00:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,417
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/217048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elementalv/pseuds/elementalv
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s five years since Ray moved back to Chicago, and he doesn’t want to grow old without Ray at his side.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kept

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thursdaynext_27](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thursdaynext_27/gifts).



> A while back, I offered up fiction for [](http://help-japan.dreamwidth.org/profile)[**help_japan**](http://help-japan.dreamwidth.org/) , and [thursdaynext_27](http://archiveofourown.org/users/thursdaynext_27/pseuds/thursdaynext_27) won one of my offerings. She gave me a couple of requests, and the one I went with was a follow-up to [Lost](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9037) and [Found](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9048).

I’ve been sitting in the ER’s waiting room for two hours by the time Frannie shows up. It’s not that she doesn’t care, because she does. She takes on all comers when it’s about me and Ray, and she’s not shy about letting anyone know when they’re being assholes, not even her own family. Especially not her own family. Maria still talks in a hushed voice about the time Frannie let Aunt Josefina, who is also Ray’s godmother, have it with both barrels for even hinting that Ray and me are going to hell because we’re together _in a Biblical sense_. And yeah, Maria says it exactly like that, so you can hear the words italicized. It’s kind of creepy, the way she does that, so I try not to think about it.

Anyway, the point is, Frannie loves Ray and me, and she’d have been here a hell of a lot sooner, if it was just a matter of finding someone to take care of her two youngest, Benton and Rachel. The real problem is finding someone to take care of Ma Vecchio. Me and Ray, we make sure Frannie gets regular breaks from watching Ma, and we do what we can financially when Frannie lets us. The thing is that Frannie doesn’t like to impose, especially since Ma is going the way Ben did, only a lot slower and with a lot less aggravation. She’s pretty happy in her Alzheimer’s, remembering only the good parts of her life. Ray says that’s a relief, because he’d hate like hell for her only to remember the bad parts, the parts where her husband used to beat the crap out of her just for forgetting to pick up after him. Instead, she remembers the good parts, and in her mind, everyone is happy and loved.

“It took forever for Mrs. Cabrese to get to the house. Her daughter just had twins, and she’s been helping out, but Carla lives in Skokie, and it took her a while to back.” Frannie looks around then adds in a small voice, “She drove as fast as she could, but she said the Kennedy was backed up for a while.”

Frannie isn’t asking about Ray, which is good, because I’m not talking about him. We’re both, in our own way, avoiding the subject, because thinking about it means thinking about the worst, and neither of us is up for that. Of course, as soon as I think that, I’m thinking about Ray, which is exactly what I’ve been trying like hell not to do since I found him face down on the kitchen floor this morning. I don’t know how long he was like that before I found him, but I hope it wasn’t too long. I’m usually up first – habit from Canada – and I take McQueen out for a run. Ray always claims he’s up right after me, but I’ve cut my run short a few times and found him still in bed, so the best case is that he was alone for maybe only fifteen minutes, tops. The worst case is that he got up right after I left and was lying there for an hour before I found him.

“Mr. Kowalski?”

I jerk a little when I hear my name and stand up to go talk to the doctor. She looks like she was pretty once, but now she just looks tired. We don’t live in a bad neighborhood, but this hospital gets traffic from all over the place, so it’s a sure bet she’s seen some pretty awful things since she started working here.

“Yeah. That’s me.”

She gets a good look at me, and then she’s frowning at the paperwork. “You’re Mr. Vecchio’s next of kin?”

“Yeah. Domestic partner,” I say, and I wonder if she’s going to do the smart thing and look at all the paperwork we got on file or at least read the packet I brought with me, or if she’s going to do the dumb thing and kick about it.

Her face clears, and she says, “Got it. My name is Dr. Jenkins, and I’ve been treating Mr. Vecchio this morning. I have to ask – is his family going to put up a fuss? As long as your paperwork is current, we won’t let them cut you out, but I need to know if I should warn the legal department.”

Frannie is standing next to me at this point, and she says, “I’m Ray’s sister. If anyone in our family tries to tell you Ray can’t make decisions for him, you let _me_ know, and I’ll take care of it.”

Dr. Jenkins looks a little cross-eyed at all the Rays, but she manages to unravel Frannie’s promise pretty quick and thanks her. “Why don’t we go someplace quiet to talk?”

Christ, I hate that phrase. One of Ben’s doctors used it the first time I had to admit Ben to the hospital for exposure. Ben had gotten it into his head that he needed to track someone through the woods, and he was out in the cold for twenty-four hours before McQueen tracked him down and brought him home. The doctor told me he was going to release Ben to a nursing home, because I couldn’t possibly take care of him in such a remote area. I was polite, mostly. I didn’t tell him to shove a scalpel in his eye, and I didn’t tell him he was a self-important asshole who knew exactly jack and shit about me and Ben. Instead, I told him thank you very much, and then I complained to the hospital board, who gave me a better doctor and who made sure Ben came home with me. There was a time Ben would have been proud of me for being so reasonable, and I held on to that thought whenever someone tried to get into our business with whatever well-meaning crap they had on offer.

Still whether I like hearing those words or not, Dr. Jenkins moves us into a small conference room with a couch and a couple of chairs. Frannie and I sit on the couch, which is good, because we can lean on each other. What’s not so good is the way she’s clutching my arm. It’s hard enough to bruise, and that might be a problem later on, because somewhere along the line, I turned diabetic, and now I have to watch everything like a hawk, especially bruises.

Getting old sucks.

“Mr. Vecchio is resting comfortably,” Dr. Jenkins says, as soon as the door is closed. “His ECG shows that he had a fairly significant myocardial infarction – a heart attack, if you will.”

Frannie moans, “Oh, God.”

“It was significant, but he received help early enough that there shouldn’t be lasting damage,” she tells us quickly, and when I hear that, I feel a lot of the tension drain away. Ray wasn’t on the kitchen floor that long. I got home in time.

“He’ll be okay?” I ask when my throat loosens up enough to talk.

“He should be. We’re still running tests to determine the next steps.”

“Next steps? What next steps?” Frannie is panicking a little, and I’m kind of jealous about that. I’d like to panic myself, but I can’t. Not when she’s called dibs on it and not when one of us needs to keep his shit together enough to hear what the doctor has to say.

Dr. Jenkins answers with a question: “Do you understand what it means when I say myocardial infarction?”

“No,” Frannie says, and she looks kind of guilty about it, like she should have known there would be a quiz, but she didn’t study for it.

Before she can get started down that road too far, I jump in and say, “Blockage, right? Of the arteries.”

She nods and says, “The coronary arteries, to be specific, the vessels that supply oxygenated blood to the heart tissue.” Frannie tenses up a little, and Dr. Jenkins must see something in her face, because she adds, “I know this sounds frightening, but remember what I said – he got here soon enough for us to give him medication that can help prevent permanent damage.”

“You’re sure of that?” I ask, because as much as I want to believe her, I got enough of an education on doctors when it came to taking care of Ben that I know they’re sometimes a little quick on the draw when it comes to reassuring family.

“Reasonably sure,” she says. And then she throws a bunch of medical jargon at us to explain why she’s sure. That’s all fine and good, but she ruins her sales pitch when she finishes with, “We’ll know for certain in a few days, when we finish running blood work on him.”

Frannie, thank God, doesn’t hear the rest of it. She just hears the shiny happy news the doctor is giving us, and I’m okay with that. Frannie’s got enough on her plate without worrying that Ray is on his deathbed when it sounds like he isn’t.

“Yeah, okay,” I say. “So blood work. What else?”

“A cardiologist is going to evaluate him later this afternoon, and then Mr. Vecchio will most likely be scheduled to have an coronary angiogram to determine the extent of the blockage,” she says. “Unless he already has a cardiologist? I didn’t see anything in his records, but if –”

“No. Nothing like that. Just a family doctor, is all,” I tell her. “Do you know who’s going to see him?”

“There are two on call today. I’m not sure who will be down.” She sounds sorry about that, and I believe that she is. It’s too bad she can’t keep taking care of Ray, because I get the feeling she wouldn’t put up with too much bullshit from him.

“Doctor,” Frannie says, “What’s an angiogram? Is it dangerous?” It’s a good thing Frannie is there, because I probably would have remembered to ask about five minutes after Dr. Jenkins was gone.

Of course, I kind of want to hit something when Dr. Jenkins doesn’t tell Frannie it’s completely safe. Instead, she tells us the truth. “It’s a minimally invasive procedure, so there’s some risk. Not a lot, but some.”

“Isn’t there a no-risk way to do it?” I could kiss Frannie for asking that, mostly because I’m not sure I can say anything right now without losing what little dignity I still have left. Ray scared the crap out of me this morning, and it’s starting to catch up to me pretty damn fast.

“Not really,” Dr. Jenkins tells her. “It’s possible that they may be able to open the blockage while they’re doing the catheterization, and if they can do that, it means your brother might not have to undergo surgery.”

Frannie starts crying hard, then, but it’s kind of quiet and desperate, and she has her face buried in my shoulder. I have to clear my throat a couple of times before I can ask, “When can we see him?”

“Not until he’s got a bed in the Coronary Care Unit,” she says. “The two of you can stay in here as long as you need to. The hospital has your phone number, right?”

“Yeah. My cell,” I tell her.

“They’ll call you once he’s settled in.”

She leaves us alone, then, and we spend the next hour wrapping our heads around it. Ray is the kind of guy who’s bigger than life, and it’s hard to think of him lying on a hospital bed with tubes running in and out of him. As much as I bitch about him – and I do, because he’s kind of a slob – he’s pretty much my rock, and I’m not sure if I could stand to lose him. It was hard enough letting go of Ben, but Ray? It makes my blood run cold to think about growing old without him. He gets me. He understands just how emotional I get when I see the crap some of our neighbors have to deal with, and instead of telling me to calm down, he tells me what I can do to make things right. He’s never once tried to change me, to make me someone I’m not, but he does make sure I don’t go doing something stupid without thinking it through first.

Christ. I haven’t willingly entered a church to pray in I don’t know how long, but I have a feeling I’ll be stopping by Ray’s church at some point in the next day or two. It might not do anything, or it might be the tipping point in his favor. Either way, it can’t hurt, and he might appreciate the thought.

*****

Frannie had to go home an hour ago, but she’s been on the phone with me ever since, trying to keep me from going crazy while I wait to hear what room Ray is in. She lives near us, so she stopped to pick up McQueen on the way home, and I’m grateful to her for that.

“Don’t be stupid. You think I’m going to keep McQueen out of the loop?”

She’s got a point. McQueen’s a lot like his old man was, and when it was Diefenbaker waiting for word on Ben, I always made sure to tell him what was happening.

“Yeah, well – hold on. Another call’s coming through.”

I switch off before Frannie can say anything, because I know for a fact that she’ll keep me on the phone with her questions about who’s calling and won’t shut up until I lose the other call. It’s happened often enough that she doesn’t even kick anymore when I switch faster than she can talk.

“Mr. Kowalski?”

“Yeah. Who’s this?”

“I’m Gretchen Meier. I’m a nurse in the CCU at –”

“Yeah.” There’s a long silence, and it feels kind of frosty, so I say, “Um. Sorry. I’m kind of anxious. You got a bed number for Ray Vecchio?”

“I do.” She tells me how to find him, and then she tells me it will be at least another hour before I can see him, because they have a bunch of stuff to record in his medical chart. “If you haven’t eaten yet, I suggest you stop before coming up.”

That reminds me that I haven’t eaten or checked my sugar all day, which is pretty goddamn stupid of me, and I can only hope that I eat soon enough for it not to be a problem.

“Good idea,” I say.

I must have hit the right note with her, because she unbends enough to tell me, “His color is good, Mr. Kowalski. You’ll see for yourself.”

“Okay. Thanks. An hour?”

“At least,” she says, and then we hang up.

Frannie’s still waiting, and I tell her what the nurse told me about getting supper, which is all kinds of stupid on my part, because she suddenly remembers she hasn’t seen me eat all day.

“It’s not enough that my brother’s in the hospital? You have to put yourself in, too?”

“Come on, Frannie. It’s not that bad,” I say, but that might be a lie, because I’m not feeling so hot. The easiest thing would be to go to the urgent care for a quick check, but if they decide to manage my sugar while I’m there, they’ll use the artificial insulin, and I can’t stand that shit.

“Tony and Maria just got here. I’m stopping at your place for your kit, and I’ll be there in twenty minutes.” She starts muttering in Italian, which is never a good sign, and then she hangs up. There’s a candy machine off the waiting room, and I buy a bag of M&Ms to tide me over.

*****

By the time we make it up to Ray’s floor, I’ve already made Frannie swear on a stack of Bibles she won’t tell him I screwed up and forgot to eat. Normally, she’d tell on me without batting an eyelash, but she agrees that Ray doesn’t need the stress of worrying about me. We’re standing about twenty feet from the nurse’s station, and neither of us is moving. We’re both trying to get ourselves set for what we’re going to see when we get in to Ray’s room, and it’s pretty damn hard.

“I don’t want to cry,” she says. “If it looks like I’m going to cry, you pull me out of there, okay?”

“Yeah. Okay.” I want her to do the same thing for me, but I still have hang-ups about tears, and there’s not a chance in hell that I’ll admit to the possibility that I might break down when I see him.

After another minute or so, we straighten up and head down to where he is. It’s a little like marching off to war, and my stomach is tied into knots. The meal I ate isn’t helping any, but it was either eat or end up in my own hospital bed, because yeah, my blood sugar was kind of messed up.

I walk into the room, and of all the things I expected, none of them was, “Geez. Took you long enough to get here. I’m bored. Tell me you at least brought me a magazine.”

Frannie recovers first, and she looks like she’s about to slap him, so I grab her from behind and keep her at a safe distance. “Do you have any idea how scared we were?” is about the nicest thing she says, and she spends the next five minutes telling him just how rotten he is. When she finally relaxes, I let go of her, and she goes to the bed to kiss him on his forehead. “We were so worried.”

Ray pats her hand and looks about as guilty as he should and says, “I know. I’m sorry.”

Frannie remembers I’m in the room, and she sniffs once before saying, “I’m sure Ray has a lot more to say to you. I’ll be in the waiting room.” She tells me, “I’ll call everyone and let them know. Stay here as long as you can.”

I nod, but I only have eyes for Ray right then. Greta was right about his color, it’s good. But he looks pretty damn tired, and I don’t think I’ll be there too long. I get up to the bed, and what I think is going to be a simple kiss on his forehead turns into something a lot more when he tilts his head back to make sure my lips land on his. It’s not the kind of kiss that gets our crank going, because we’re neither one of us in any shape for something that energetic. It’s more the kind of kiss that tells us we’re alive, and we’re going to be there the next day and all the days after that. It’s the kind of kiss I need after waiting so long to see him, and it’s the kind of kiss he needs to reassure him I’m not going anywhere just because he was stupid enough to have a heart attack.

We stop kissing before anyone walks in on us, and I tell him in no uncertain terms, “You’re not allowed to die on me, Vecchio. I’ve already been a widower, and I didn’t like it.”

“Got it,” he says.

*****

We were lucky. There was only one artery that had any real blockage, but they were able to put a stent in to open it up and keep it open. For now, this means no bypass surgery, but it also means that Ray is going to have to start eating what I eat, which is pissing him off to no end.

“It’s that belly of yours,” I tell him on the ride home. “I told you it makes you suspi – suskep – fuck it. It makes you what – prone? – prone to heart attacks. You gotta stop with all the deserts and pasta and rolls and start eating healthier.”

“I hate you,” he says, grumbling because he knows perfectly well that I had a long talk with the nutritionist at the hospital, and that I’m going to start riding his ass about everything he puts in his mouth.

Sure, he’ll kick some. Probably a lot, now that I think about it. But in the end, he’ll eat what he’s supposed to, because like I said, he gets me, and he knows this is what has to happen.


End file.
